


Of Broken Thrones And Cut Hair

by AnOceanInATeacup



Series: Yuri On Ice One-Shots [6]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, Sort Of, Victor has a bad home life, Yakov and Lilia are still married, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOceanInATeacup/pseuds/AnOceanInATeacup
Summary: Victor showed up on his coach's doorstep battered and bruised.
Series: Yuri On Ice One-Shots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545154
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	Of Broken Thrones And Cut Hair

**Author's Note:**

> I love angst and the idea that Victor's childhood was abusive or neglectful. 
> 
> Also, this story takes place in Russia so even though I wrote the dialogue in English pretend it's Russian.

Lilia was propped up against the headboard by a bunch of throw pillows with a fantasy novel in hand. She was reading by moonlight from the open window. Her tired eyes drifted from the book to the man laying on his back, under the covers next to her. Yakov was in a deep sleep with his hand still resting on her thigh, from caressing it before falling asleep to the low sound of Lilia's voice as she read her book out loud. It was one of few gentle things they did frequently in the comfort of their home.

She had stopped reading out loud about an hour ago. It was silent besides Yakov's deep breathing and the occasional turned page. 

She was startled back into reality by a loud but short pounding on the front door. A quick irritated glance at Yakov's alarm clock informed her that it was 03:17. She ignored them. Whoever it was could come back at a decent hour.

Her eyes started scanning the page for her place. Yakov remained unbothered.

After a moment, another urgent rap at the door prevented her from settling back in the fantasy world she'd been in the last few hours. She huffed and swung her legs over the side of the bed, turning back to put her book open down on the bed in her spot so she wouldn't lose her page before rising to her feet.

The woman easily made her way to the window and looked down at her doorstep. She recognised the long, grey-blond hair immediately. 

She could hear the sound of the door being pounded on echoing throughout her home as she watched the teen bang against the door with both hands again.

Alarm bells went off in her head when she remembered the time and saw that, despite the freezing temperatures, Victor wasn't wearing a jacket of any sort.

She quickly darted back to the bed and shook her husband. Yakov stirred and glared at the ballerina, "Wha--?"

"Victor is at the door. Get up."

"Seriously? You deal with him." With that he flipped onto his stomach and promptly fell back asleep.

She huffed and went straight to the front door without stopping to use the washroom even when her bladder called for her to.

She yanked open the door, lips pressed in a firm line, "Victor, do you know what time-- Victor?" The stern woman cut herself off at the awful sight that greeted her. Things she couldn't see from her bedroom window. 

The teenaged boy was swaying back and forth uneasily on his feet, hair matted in some places and unevenly chopped off at his jaw on the left side of his face, a large purple bruise was blooming across his right cheekbone. He was hyperventilating and tears slipped from his eyes, down his face at a rapid pace.

"So-sorry, I'm sorry, Y-Yak--" He struggled to breathe and get intelligible speech out at the same time, "I d-didn't-- I can't--"

"Come in." It wasn't a question. She grabbed his elbow and dragged him in, heart dropping when he flinched. 

Once inside and the door shut, the ballerina turned to the skater. Victor was hiding behind a curtain of hair. 

She lead the boy the kitchen and sat him down at the table with a uncharacteristic amount of care, "Breathe," She said softly, "Whatever happened, you're safe here."

She slowly brought her hand up to inspect the bruise but Victor flinched away violently. She dropped it for the moment. "I'm going to wake up Yakov. I'll be right back."

Victor sat alone at the dining room table and tried to remember how his lungs were supposed to work. His chest burned. He cradled his hurting wrist to his chest.

"Vitya?" 

Victor went rigid tense at the man's voice and ducked his head, mumbling, "I didn't know where else to go."

"It's okay. You're okay here. What happened?" Yakov sat across from the teen as his wife stood stiffly behind him. Victor's frame was locked. He was looking at his feet as if they were the most fascinating thing ever. At least he wasn't hyperventilating anymore. 

"My father-- he--" 

"I'll kill him."

"N-no. It's my fault."

"Like hell it is." Lilia said, "What'd you do to deserve that bruise?"

"I kissed a boy." He answered in a low, shameful tone.

Yakov swallowed. He couldn't stand this sight; the usually confident and cheerful boy battered and fragile. He was going to kill Ivan Nikiforov. 

"It was the last straw. H-he-- My mother, she lost her-- she did this." He raised his harmed wrist a little.

"Do you need a doctor to see that?" Lilia ask, seeing some bruising around his wrist too.

"No." Victor answered quickly, too quickly but neither adult pushed him on it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I'll go--"

"I'll set you up on the couch." Lilia said decisively as Yakov said: "You can stay as long as you want."

Victor breathed heavily through his nose and relaxed his shoulders infinitesimally before nodding.


End file.
